


Murder Onesie

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, M/M, Murder Husbands, murder onesie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter blinked at him from the far side of the dining room table. He stood stock still, taking in Will’s lethal accessory without a discernible reaction. Will regarded him in turn, his gaze taking in the man before him between rapid blinks. Hannibal was wearing a clear plastic jumpsuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murder Onesie

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the loveliest of lovelies, [Polaris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris), for being my Beta. And for listening to me whine about this fic for ages.

“Hannibal?” Will called as he let himself in the front door of Hannibal’s house. Given the _intimacies_ he and Hannibal had shared since he’d been released from the asylum, it seemed superfluous to knock.

Despite Will’s best efforts, they had been mercilessly entangled from day one. Will had been drawn, however unwittingly, tighter and tighter into Hannibal’s decaying orbit. It was by Hannibal’s own design that escape would become an impossibility: his influence was too strong. Will’s incarceration was a testament to that. It had also been a turning point. Their high stakes game of cat and mouse had finally come to a head. Hannibal could no longer bandy Will about, poking and prodding and assessing how he reacted to various stimuli. Tired of being a perpetual experiment and no longer content with playing by Hannibal’s rules, Will decided to make his own. 

Matthew Brown had been little more than a pawn—easy to manipulate and just as easy to sacrifice. Will had never really intended for Matthew to succeed. This was a long game after all. Randall Tier was yet another casualty in their war, although not an insignificant one. Tier had changed things between them: it had brought them to an understanding. It was by no means a truce, but their respective passions for the other man’s destruction had waned. Now they could dismantle each other through touch and feel. A simple look could tear away Hannibal’s veneer. A well-placed kiss could demolish Will’s resolve. Both men knew that their truest reflections were those found in the eyes of the other, and they clung to each other because of it. 

Of course this wasn’t something that either of them could explain. They’d barely attempted to discuss it. They simply let it be, although they had come to the unspoken agreement that the less Jack, Alana, or anyone else knew about it, the better. This was for them, yet another secret they shared, which should have bothered him. It didn’t. 

When Will didn’t get a response to his greeting, he decided to make himself at home and wait for Hannibal to get back from wherever he had wandered off to. Hannibal was terrible about letting Will know where he’d be and when. For someone whose life was so strictly regimented, that man had a real knack for just up and disappearing for hours on end. Of course Will wasn’t stupid. He had a very good idea what Hannibal was up to. He just wished Hannibal had called and let him know he’d be out. Will had driven _all_ the way from Wolf Trap to see him, after all. It was almost rude for Hannibal not to be there. 

On second thought, not having Hannibal around meant that Will could raid his fridge in peace. It was no secret that Hannibal was a complete snob when it came to what--or who--he ate. It was also no secret that Will didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that. Will grew up too poor to complain. Being picky was never a luxury he could afford, nor was it a worthwhile practice. More often than not, he and his dad had been plain lucky when they both had something to eat, even if it wasn’t enough. And Will knew for a fact that there were many nights when his dad had gone without so that he could go to bed with a mostly full stomach. If given a choice, he preferred dishes that didn’t smell too weird and where he could identify at least the main ingredients. 

Conversely Hannibal’s time as an orphan had instilled in him an appreciation for fine food that bordered on worshipful. The skill that went into every dish he created, no matter how simple--not that he ever really made anything simple; even his morning coffee was a production--was akin to crafting a masterpiece. He seemed to be making up for having too little then through sheer extravagance now. 

Will was riffling through the various Tupperware containers in the fridge, trying to find the leftovers from the night before last. Will couldn’t even begin to pronounce the name of the dish, but it had been delicious. He suspected it contained that clerk who had given them a dirty look last week when Hannibal had slipped an arm around him and kissed his neck at the market. Finally finding what he was looking for, Will turned around, bumping the refrigerator closed with his hip as he hummed under his breath. His melody was marred by a faint thump from somewhere in the house. 

Will froze. He strained his ears searching for the sound, partly convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. 

The noise came again, a rhythmic sound accompanied by muffled clacks. It sounded like footsteps. 

Slowly, Will set the Tupperware down on the counter and backed away from the fridge. He reached behind himself, never taking his gaze from the doorway, and made his way to the knife block where Hannibal kept his masterfully sharpened knives. If someone had broken into Hannibal Lecter’s house, they had made a grave mistake. He pulled a knife free, feeling his heart rate spike as the cool metal slide free with a soft zing. He toed off his shoes and crept in stocking feet around to the dining room, where the sound was getting louder. Will rounded the corner to the dining room ready to eliminate this intruder like he’d done to Randall Tier. Knife up, poised to strike with adrenaline pulsing through his veins-

Hannibal Lecter blinked at him from the far side of the dining room table. He stood stock still, taking in Will’s lethal accessory without a discernible reaction. Will regarded him in turn, his gaze taking in the man before him between rapid blinks. Hannibal was wearing a clear plastic jumpsuit.

It was undoubtedly the most bizarre thing Will had ever seen, and that included a totem pole made out of dead bodies and a fucking throat cello. Hannibal’s three piece suit was still visible underneath the plastic. Even the pattern of his pocket square was evident. 

“Will,” said Hannibal, nonplussed. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“I...um...uh…” Will sputtered unattractively while his brain attempted to process what he was seeing. He set down the knife and blinked several more times in quick succession wondering if his vision would clear and reveal this was just some sort of daydream. He’d dealt with all sorts of terrifying hallucinations, but this wasn’t one of them. This was _hilarious_. Will tried with all his might to calmly ask what exactly Hannibal was wearing. But he couldn't. The only action he was capable of was to break into raucous laughter. Hannibal actually flinched at the sudden outburst. Soon enough Will was bent double, clutching his sides. 

“Oh...god...you...onesie...I’m...dying,” he wheezed between each syllable. 

Hannibal looked genuinely affronted and made the mistake of crossing his arms to show his displeasure. Sadly, the unbecoming creak of the plastic bending sent Will back into hysterics. He was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. “It...squeaks…” Will was certain Hannibal wanted nothing better than to wrap his hands around Will’s throat and squeeze, the press against his windpipe would definitely put an end to his laughter. But Will couldn’t help himself. He was a shuddering wreck, no longer even making any sounds as his body convulsed with laughter. He sank to the floor and curled around himself. Tears streamed down his face. 

Hannibal merely narrowed his eyes and stalked out of the room. Each step was accompanied by the undignified scritch of plastic on plastic, causing Will’s shoulders to shake that much more with silent laughter. Will tried to tell Hannibal to stay, but no sound would come out. He had to resort to deep, gasping breaths to feed his oxygen-starved lungs. It took Will several minutes to get himself under control. He wiped the tears from his eyes and lay on the floor panting, trying to regulate his breathing while enjoying the euphoric high that comes from a good laugh. 

Will wasn’t sure how long he laid on the dining room floor before he realized Hannibal hadn’t come back. He couldn’t hear any signs of movement coming from the upstairs or the rest of the house for that matter. Will’s shoulders sagged. He suspected Hannibal was upstairs sulking and changing into something less murderous. For an almost superhuman serial killer, Hannibal was apparently very sensitive about his clothing choices. Will almost felt bad for laughing. That said, someone in the greater Baltimore area would live tonight if Hannibal never made it out the door. Will got to his feet, telling himself that his primary motivation was saving lives and not a chance to spend more time with Hannibal. 

Will found Hannibal in his bedroom. He still looked unhappy but hadn’t changed out of his jumpsuit. Instead he was standing in front of the mirror, assessing his own reflection from various angles. Will smiled but couldn’t help rolling his eyes. 

“I know what you’re thinking. And yes, that suit _does_ make your ass look fat.” The death glare Will got in response told him that humor was definitely _not_ the way to get back into Hannibal’s good graces. It certainly wiped the smile clean from Will’s face. Lesser men would have fallen dead on the spot from the venom in those eyes. 

“Do let me know when you’ve finished laughing at my expense,” Hannibal sniffed and turned to leave the room, pushing past Will. His reply had been icy and stilted. Apparently Will really had hurt his feelings which was something of a surprise. Some days Will wasn’t entirely sure Hannibal had feelings at all, just very realistic impersonations of emotions that he’d learned to masterfully employ depending on the given scenario. 

“Hannibal, I’m sorry.” Will was genuinely contrite as he made a placating grab for Hannibal. Hannibal just crossed his arms and purposefully avoided looking at Will. 

“Apology not accepted.” Will bit his lip. Hannibal was _pissed_. And Will was not in the mood to cater to his fragile ego. “Seriously? What did you expect? You’re wearing a murder onesie. _You_ , of all people.” 

“It is not a…” Hannibal clearly couldn’t bring himself to repeat Will’s phrasing. “This is a highly practical and necessary garment.” 

“It looks like a plastic Snuggie,” said Will flatly. “Hannibal, that suit is ridiculous. And I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but it’s funny. Deny it all you want, but it’s true.” 

“It protects the clothing underneath while minimizing the amount of incriminating personal evidence that can be left behind.” Hannibal would not be deterred. 

“Oh, you’re right, forgive me. Can you get it with a French cuff for more formal murders?” Will immediately regretted his words. Sarcasm and blatant rudeness were his go-to, but it definitely wasn’t helping the situation. Hannibal was obviously livid. He had purple splotches on his flawless cheeks and looked like he wanted to throttle the life out of Will. And Will must be sick, must be fucked up beyond belief because he couldn’t help but find Hannibal’s simmering rage utterly captivating. The passion, however violent, in those eyes set Will’s heart racing. Hannibal was close to the edge of losing his composure, and Will always delighted in giving him the little push he needed to completely let go and tumble into the abyss. Watching Hannibal succumb to his basest urges and leave the cultured, master of control behind was a beautiful sight. 

Clearly it was time to change tactics. Will reached a hand up to pluck at the suit’s zipper. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He aimed his words at Hannibal’s chest and looked up through his eyelashes. “Let me make it up to you.” Will obviously and suggestively licked his lips. 

“You’re purposefully attempting to manipulate me into forgiving you.” Hannibal’s expression hadn’t softened, but Will could see just a hint of lust starting to mingle with Hannibal’s rage. “It isn’t going to work.” Hannibal sounded smooth and confident. 

Will doubled his resolve: he had a goal to meet after all. He wanted that ridiculous thing off, wanted to touch. He found himself craving skin to skin contact. But the high collar rendered Hannibal’s neck virtually inaccessible, leaving only his hands and imperfectly perfect face uncovered. The jumpsuit also added yet another layer on top of the three piece suit Hannibal was sporting underneath. That stupid onesie had to go. 

Immediately. 

Just as Will began to draw down the zipper, Hannibal grabbed his wrist to stop him. Hannibal’s hands, much like the rest of him, demonstrated a fine balance between refined and powerful. The long fingers spoke of elegance and artistry, but the strength in them was able to crush and bruise without a second thought. Will knew full well that it was useless to struggle against Hannibal’s vice-like grip. He backed up slowly and used the point of contact to draw Hannibal further into the room. Hannibal provided no resistance but refused to be led. Instead he took deliberate steps forward and crowded against Will’s front, trapping their hands between them. 

“I told you, Will. It isn’t going to work.” Hannibal loomed over Will as he enunciated each word with care. He used his broad shoulders and chest to make their scant height difference feel like a mile. Will rocked to the balls of his feet to whisper against Hannibal’s lips. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

Hannibal smiled and shook his head. “Oh, Will. What’s to be done with you?” 

“Well...if you’re taking suggestions, I have a few.” Will smiled, feral and unabashed. 

Hannibal bared his teeth in response, crooked and sharp and dangerous in spite of the horrible thing he was wearing. “I think I’ve heard enough of your suggestions for the evening,” he shot back, but there was amusement there now beneath the irritation still simmering under his skin. 

Will pressed closer, arching his back and baring his throat in an appealing display. “Take it off,” he whispered, letting his voice go rough. He paused, meeting Hannibal’s eyes before going in for the kill. “Please.” 

Will could see the moment Hannibal consented. His resolved hadn’t cracked. He’d simply caught on to Will’s game. He was always a quick study, never slow to pick up the rules and twist them for his own purposes. He wasn’t above playing dirty to succeed. He and Will had that in common. So long as Hannibal maintained a veneer of upstanding nobility, the meticulous and perverse calculations being devised under the surface of his people suit knew no moral or ethical bounds. He would win at any cost. The end always justified the means. 

He shoved Will away. A man with less self-control might have growled a fierce and terrifying battle cry. Instead Hannibal retained his carefully neutral and passive expression, save for his eyes. They were a novel for Will. He wanted to fall asleep each night lulled by the stories contained in them, his mind quieted by the tales he couldn’t imagine, epics he would read and reread, memorize until he could not separate them from his own past. 

Hannibal swiftly and forcibly unzipped the jumpsuit. The static zip of the teeth unclasping pierced the otherwise serene quiet. He deftly divested himself, slithering gracefully from the garment’s confines despite the inflexible and unforgiving plastic. The suit crumpled around his feet, crinkling with each movement. Sliding his own shoe-clad feet free from the attached footies had proved surprisingly easy for Hannibal. Will was slightly disappointed. He knew well enough to never doubt Hannibal's grace but had hoped the process of removing his ridiculous murder onesie would at least be met with some sort of obstacle. Then again it’s not as though Hannibal hadn’t had plenty of practice stripping blood-splattered plastic from himself if the estimated body count of the Chesapeake Ripper was anything to go by. True disappointment came when Will realized that even with the plastic suit sitting like a snake’s shed skin on the floor, Hannibal was still fully clothed. His three-piece suit still looked pristine, and Hannibal made no move to remove it. 

And so Hannibal stepped forward once more, not the least bit concerned with the overabundance of clothing they were both still wearing. Instead he moved into Will’s space, looming again for just a moment before ducking his head to deliver a quick, chaste kiss, before giving the shorter man another shove. Will let himself be pushed and shoved and man-handled until the backs of his legs met with edge of Hannibal’s bed. He fell back with little prompting, expecting Hannibal’s bulk to fall with him. Instead Hannibal passively watched him sprawl out on the mattress and then inched himself forward, settling with one knee on either side of Will’s waist, waiting and watching. Will rested his hands on Hannibal’s thighs, then slowly ran them up the muscular legs, over the juncture of the hips and towards towards Hannibal’s tie. Will’s eyes met Hannibal’s as Will gave the tie a gentle tug. It was the perfect hand hold and the greatest way to use his leverage to pull Hannibal down for another kiss. Hannibal, wry smile gracing his lips, simply batted Will’s hands away, never breaking eye contact. 

Hannibal spoke. It was soft and soothing, gentle and undemanding, the exact opposite of how Will was feeling at that precise moment. “You seemed to take issue with my…” 

“Murder onesie.” Will supplied unhelpfully. Hannibal ignored his interruption. 

“Tell me Will, what do you think of _this_ suit?” Hannibal gestured to his muted plaid suit and waited for Will’s response. Hannibal slowly began undoing the buttons. First the top with ease and dexterity. He never took his eye’s off Will’s face. Will’s gaze was free to roam. It took in the soft fabric covering Hannibal’s broad shoulders and powerful limbs. 

“It’s...okay?” It sounded like a question. And Will had intended as much. Hannibal’s vanity was legendary as far as Will was concerned. The man liked to preen and primp, and Will was not about to stroke his ego. 

“Just okay?” The question was carefully neutral coming from Hannibal’s mouth. 

“Just okay.” Will confirmed. He knew the suit was one of Hannibal’s favorites, worn often with a silky pink tie adorned with soft purple flowers. At first glance, especially from further than just a few feet away, most people wouldn’t notice the faint lines of light blue, baby pink, and olive green running through the suit jacket and matching trousers. Most people would just see a crisp earthy gray suit, impeccably cut with beautiful lines to frame a regal and elegant man. It was evident that Hannibal liked to mix and match patterns. It seemed a bit outlandish at times, but somehow Hannibal made it work. Some people were dismissive and would simply shrug and exclaim “he’s European” as though that answered all the questions an enigma like Hannibal Lecter produced. 

Every path he cut across the globe left a wanting wake of raised eyebrows and curiosity. He always produced more questions than answers--his fascination with psychiatry was certainly a testament to that. Hannibal could ask questions all day long but was never expected to give answers. He didn’t offer solutions either. He simply sat and watched. What he observed helped make him the man others knew him to be. And the man they all knew was contented to watch everyone else stew in mystery, because sure enough Hannibal believed he had all the answers. Will in his infinite wisdom always sought to prove him wrong. “I’d like it better if you weren’t wearing it right now.” Will tried to wiggle his hips to punctuate his statement, although Hannibal’s weight gave him little room for movement. 

“Very well.” Hannibal, completely impassive, slipped the jacket from his shoulders, a quick fluid motion as it cascaded down his arms. With a faint flourish, Hannibal tossed it carefully. It came to rest on a nearby chair, and for a moment Will was surprised Hannibal hadn’t gotten up to hang it in its proper place in the closet. “And this vest?” Hannibal was already undoing the buttons. Will tracked his hand’s progress. He wanted to reach out and touch; to splay his fingers across the soft fabric and feel Hannibal’s chest rise underneath his hands with each breath. Hannibal was entirely too calm, too collected, as always. Will remained silent. It was his turn to observe, and Hannibal didn’t seem to require an answer. Instead he shucked the vest and sent it to join his jacket. Next he moved on to the tie. 

The pace was languid and controlled, so very different from just a few moments before when Hannibal had been nothing but brute strength and vengeful lust. Will could see the wheels turning. As usual Hannibal was in control. The plastic jumpsuit had been put on with as much careful deliberation as Hannibal was now displaying as he removed each article of clothing one by one. Hannibal was setting a trap. But Will was not a victim, he was not prey. He would not be subdued and laid open for Hannibal to dismantle and rebuild. _Not this time._

Will considered the tie for a minute. He’d always thought it was a bit of an eyesore, but knew he had no place to judge when it came to fashion. He had a vague awareness that there is a right way and a wrong way to wear plaid. His baggy, shapeless button downs were the wrong way. Apparently Hannibal’s aesthetic demonstrated the right way. But the tie itself was ghastly. 

“I hate that tie.” Will had hoped to goad Hannibal into action. But Hannibal simply quirked an eyebrow and loosened the knot, pulling until the short end came free, and the knot dissolved. Hannibal ran one hand over the fabric before making two identical loops, pulling one through the other. He used them to capture Will’s wrists and pulled tight. Hannibal leaned forward pushing Will’s hands above his head and pinning them to the bed. His movements, lithe and graceful, brought them face to face, their noses just millimeters apart. Their chests are pressed flushed. They breathe together for a few beats before Will tilted his head and arched up into Hannibal’s space. Their lips met, gentle and chaste. One. Two. Three. The fourth kiss lingered, deepening at Will’s insistence. Tongues entwined, hips rolling lazily, they relished the softness and intimacy of the moment. It was all too soon before Hannibal pulled back bringing his hands between them to worry at Will’s shirt. The sliver of pale flesh that peaked over Will’s collar grew one undone button at a time. 

Once the last button was undone, Hannibal gently smoothed the fabric aside letting his nails scrape gently against the planes of Will’s torso. A faint moan escaped from Will. The sound was intoxicating, and Hannibal proceeded to pull more gentle groans and whimpers from Will, nails lightly etching his hopes and dreams and plans for the future into Will’s pale skin while placing intermittent kisses across the exposed flesh. Will for his part could no longer lay still. He craved contact and rushed to free his hands so he could run his fingers through Hannibal’s hair breaking the styling product and untethering the silky strands. Will’s hands scrabbled against Hannibal’s collar as Hannibal ran his stubbled cheeks across Will’s chest. The friction wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough exposed skin. Will pulled on Hannibal’s collar, now crumpled beyond repair to bring their lips back together. It was meant to be searing and intense, the perfect opportunity to escalate. All Will wanted was for Hannibal to let go. Hannibal seemed disinclined to give in to Will’s demands. 

He did, however, break the kiss to pull back and gaze down at Will, hands moving reluctantly from Will to his own shirt. The luxurious pace at which Hannibal untucked his shirt and began to unclasp the buttons, top to bottom, was infuriating. The cuffs were next. Hannibal undid each cuff deliberately as he watched Will squirm beneath him. 

Watching the fabric fall from his shoulders was heavenly. The shirt fell to the floor, floating with the ease of gravity, unveiling the beautiful work of art it was hiding from the world. The swaths of smooth, tan skin stretched over taut muscle practically made Will’s mouth water. He wanted to drag his lips over the exposed torso and burn every available square inch with his kisses. He wanted to brand Hannibal, leave a visible, indelible mark. He wanted to sign his name with the tip of his tongue and collect the taste of Hannibal’s skin. He wanted to savor and steal the flavor, keeping it for himself and ensuring that no one else ever had the chance to explore Hannibal this way. He wanted to rob the world of all five senses and keep the knowledge of Hannibal’s exquisite existence all to himself. 

Hannibal finally let him touch, let him run his hands up through the patch of hair that ghosted across Hannibal’s chest. Palms flat, his hands mapped every peak and valley of Hannibal’s muscles. His fingertips traveled across the great expanse, reveling in the journey and finding their home clasped together behind Hannibal’s neck as he sat up and pulled Hannibal to him. Hannibal sank further into Will’s lap letting his knees splay wide and rolling his hips. Will moaned at the added contact. Feeling Hannibal’s erection pressed against his own was a heady experience. It made his spine tingle and his brain stop working. Although the pleasure that invaded his brain space and slowly melted under his skin leaving him warm and sated did little to discourage his own mouth. Where Hannibal was quiet and pensive in all pursuits, Will was an unabashed moaner. The gasps and groans drawn out of him unbidden, needy and demanding, would always make him blush afterwards. The hot, red glow that painted his cheeks and chest was always tinted a little darker by embarrassment when he recalled the low hums and high whines he panted out as Hannibal cleverly brought him to orgasm. 

Will laid a kiss at the hollow of Hannibal’s throat. It was soft and simple. He worked his way across one collarbone and then the other as his hands trailed across Hannibal’s back. Each twitch of muscle and movement under his hands was an encouragement. Each gentled tug from where Hannibal’s had his hands buried in Will’s hair was a direct order, and Will couldn’t help but let loose a small whimper in reply. A sharp tug had him falling backwards away from the hard line and warmth of Hannibal’s body. Hannibal laid one strong hand on either side of Will’s head. The long fingers gently arching around the curve of his skull playing with the soft hair while Hannibal’s thumbs danced across his cheekbones. 

Hannibal took in the man before him. Soft curls and a hard jawline, light blue eyes that reflected the world around him, smooth, pale skin begging to be marred. Hannibal traced the gentle curves of his shoulders, sliding his hands under the collar of Will’s unbuttoned shirt. He trailed his lips along one shoulder nibbling as he went. He wanted to bite seams into Will’s skin and watch him fall apart. He wanted him to be raw and unraveled, begging for Hannibal’s soothing touch to piece him back together. Hannibal’s hands continued to slide down Will’s arms as he applied gentle caresses to the sinewy muscles and pushed the plaid button down past the crook of Will’s elbows and over his lean forearms. Once he had freed Will’s comely, capable hands, Hannibal laced their fingers together to still Will’s wandering touch. He continued to mouth at Will’s shoulders and playfully nip and the delicate skin stretched primly over Will’s collarbones. 

“Hannibal.” Will’s back arched, the name expounded in shock as Hannibal left a particularly sharp bite at the juncture between Will’s right shoulder and neck. They locked eyes briefly before Will retaliated by pulling Hannibal in for a bruising kiss. It was hard and forceful. It was a command for Hannibal to get on with it, to take what he wanted. Hannibal wanted Will, that much was obvious. But what Hannibal really wanted was for Will to beg. He’d cast aside his evening plans at Will’s behest. He’d endured mockery and ridicule and wanted Will to sing his heartfelt apology with desperate cries of “please” and “more.” Hannibal nipped at Will’s lips and was rewarded with hot, breathy sighs that grew in volume as Hannibal kissed back down Will’s neck. 

Will leaned back on the bed once more as Hannibal continued his path southward. In a fluid motion he dragged his tongue down Will’s chest and drew slow concentric circles around a nipple. Hannibal’s attentions were rewarded with a deep rumbling groan as he purposefully flicked the top of his tongue over a pebbled nipple. The sensation always went straight to Will’s dick. A low throbbing heat would ignite and build and spread outward into his limbs. His toes would curl, and his mind would hum with the anticipation of what would come next. He writhed on the sheets and issued breathy moans as his body desperately longed for more friction, more touching, more everything except clothes. 

Both he and Hannibal were still clothed from the waist down. Pants and shoes had yet to be discarded. Belts and zippers hadn’t yet received even a moment's attention. It was no matter that both men were clearly straining against their confines. Will felt vaguely claustrophobic with his legs still trapped by layers of fabric. He felt desperate for his skin to breathe. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was ragged, but his skin needed the oxygen more than his lungs. He wanted to feel the rush of air on his overheated skin before Hannibal enveloped, consumed him with his preternatural body heat. 

Hannibal pulled away completely. Will could only groan in protest as he watched Hannibal crawl down his body gracefully, one foot dangling off the bed and stretching downwards to meet the floor. The other followed as Hannibal sunk to his knees beside the bed. Hannibal on his knees in front of Will was a rare and treasured sight. Lust spiked though Will and his resolve to stay pliant and wait out Hannibal’s tortuously slow seduction had already begun to dissolve. It was as though it never existed to begin with when Will let loose an involuntary moan as Hannibal trailed his hand up Will’s pant leg, scratching his pointer finger down the back of Will’s calf and hooking it under the elastic band at the top of Will’s sock. The finger circled around under the cotton playing with the downy hair. Will shivered at the contact. Hannibal tugged gently at the laces of Will’s shoes. The knots fell away easily one at a time with little coaxing. Hannibal pried the mouths of the shoes wider, stretching the laces and leather and freeing Will’s feet. The socks followed, pulled down slowly as the rough pads of Hannibal’s fingers grazed across the arch of Will’s feet as they escaped their confines. The soles of his feet had been burning, scorched by the carnal promise in Hannibal’s touch. 

Hannibal had made quick work of Will’s shoes and socks, tossing them carelessly behind him. They landed with a thud echoing Will’s own heart beat. He always felt a small, illicit thrill when Hannibal dispelled his need for order. This was no different. The lack of deliberation showed Will that Hannibal was impatient, perhaps even just as impatient as Will was. Yet that impatience failed to show itself as Hannibal ran his palms up the insides of Will’s thighs then over the tops to grip tightly. Surely hours had passed since Hannibal had stumbled upon Will in his kitchen. It must have been days since Will let loose his ill-timed laughter and followed Hannibal upstairs to make amends. Whole lifetimes had been lived in the time that it took Hannibal to finally, finally reach up and tug at the buckle of Will’s belt. Will vowed in that moment to only ever wear sweatpants from now on if it meant giving Hannibal quicker access. Hannibal dragged Will towards him until Will’s ass was teetering on the edge of the mattress. Hannibal stayed rooted in the v made by Will’s spread legs and reached for Will’s belt. 

The belt unfastened with the clatter of metal on metal. The button and zipper were handled with the same deliberate dexterity that Hannibal always conveyed. There was a glint in his eye that belied Hannibal’s apathetic visage as his fingers curled underneath the elastic of Will’s underpants. Hannibal wore the tiniest of smirks--a faint, conspiratorial smile that Hannibal rationed. It was a half-smile that he saved for moments like these, moments that Will treasured, moments that Will would endeavor to memorize and relive in the quiet evenings when he and Hannibal were apart. Will watched, rapt and determined not to miss a single second as Hannibal bared Will’s skin inch by inch. Will’s pants gave no resistance as they whispered down Will’s hips, over his thighs, and were left in a heap on the floor. 

Hannibal lifted Will’s leg, setting it on his own shoulder to nuzzle at the juncture of his knee. He pressed a kiss to the soft muscle and nipped gently at the sensitive skin and running his tongue delicately up Will’s thigh for a few inches before running a path of kisses back towards Will’s knee. By the time Hannibal turned his attention to Will’s other knee, Will’s legs were trembling. His hands were curled into tight fists, shoulders tense with the strain of self-control. In place of sitting up and burying his fingers in Hannibal’s hair and dragging the other man closer, Will babbled and squirmed on the bed. He could hear someone chanting Hannibal’s name, the voice low and husky and full of want and need. He hardly recognized it as his own. His lips moved of their own accord, forming the syllabus as his voice was pulled from him out of sheer desperation. 

His cock was leaking steadily, fat drops of precum beaded at tip before overflowing and running down the shaft. He was painfully hard and unrepentant. The air sparked with need that evaporated from his pores, and Will was sure that Hannibal could smell it all around them. The scent would spread and linger, staining the whole house with memories their activities. If walls could talk, Will would murder them himself and rejoice in their ruin. He would paint himself with the drywall dust like it were the ashes of the deceased and haunt the world, white as a specter, to keep his and Hannibal’s secrets. Will keened and arched his back as he felt Hannibal’s cheek press against the top of his thigh to spread his legs wider. Hannibal’s breath fluttered across Will’s package. His breathing was labored, chest rising almost as rapidly as Will’s own. 

“Tell me what you want, Will.” Hannibal practically purred as the question rolled off his tongue. Will wanted to cry. He wanted to curse and swear. He wanted to damn Hannibal to Hell. There was no way the man before him didn’t know exactly what Will wanted. And he told him as much. 

“You know what I want.” Will couldn’t relent. He wanted Hannibal to take, not to acquiesce. It was one of Hannibal’s most irritating traits: his ability to read Will’s moods and emotions. It wasn’t uncommon for Will to wonder if Hannibal really was psychic. It seemed like not a day went by where Hannibal didn’t stealthily retrieve some buried, neglected, or studiously unacknowledged tidbit from Will’s brain. It was just another way that Hannibal raised his daily activities to the level of art. His psychiatry, just like final forms of his victims, was masterful and painted a picture of his design one word, one brushstroke at a time. 

Hannibal hmmed thoughtfully. “What happened to those helpful suggestions you mentioned earlier?” 

“What happened to hearing enough out of me?” Will bit out the retort. 

“You know I could never tire of hearing you.” Hannibal turned his head, cheek brushing across Will’s dick and kissed the inside of Will’s thigh. The clipped moan Will released punctuated the point. “Touching you.” Hannibal gruffly caressed Will’s sides counting the ribs that passed under his palms and rubbing circles with his thumbs over the bony ridge of Will’s hipbones. “Seeing you. Tasting you.” Will nearly shouted as Hannibal dove forward and ran the flat of his tongue across the head of Will’s cock. The moisture and heat of the contact made him twitch. “You are a work of true beauty. The noises you make as you unravel under my hands is exhilarating. I could live a lifetime sustained on the way you say my name when you’re close. The way you make it sound like a plea. You always ask so nicely. So polite, undemanding like my hands and mouth are a gift.” Hannibal wrapped his dexterous fingers loosely around Will’s shaft. Long, smooth passes, up then down then up again. Will arched into the touch. “Tell me Will. What do you want?” 

“Fuck, Hannibal. I want…” Will’s answer was cut short with a nasal groan as his whole body tensed. Will tilted his head back, pushing into the mattress as Hannibal dipped down to lap at the underside of Will’s balls. Light flutters pulsed against his sack in direct contrast to the leisurely strokes of Hannibal’s hand. 

Will continued to groan, hoping Hannibal would intuit his plea for more. Hannibal ran his tongue up the underside of Will’s shaft, his hand bracing against the other side as his thumb swirled over the head. He bobbed forward, circling his lips around the head of Will’s cock and flickering his tongue before pressing hard against Will’s slit. With one last flick of his tongue, Hannibal crowded forwarded taking all of Will into his mouth. 

“Oh god...mmmm...Hannibal....you feel...don’t stop!” The velvety heat of Hannibal’s mouth and the clever roughness of his tongue felt incredible. Will felt his body tense as it adjusted to the stunning sensation. Hannibal knew exactly what he liked and was always willing to oblige so long as Will asked nicely enough. Hannibal loved to goad Will, use the man’s propensity for chattering senselessly as Hannibal worked him towards orgasm to draw out oaths and promises and hear Will shout his name. 

Hannibal worked his head in a steady rhythm, up and down and up and down, his lips running tight against Will’s dick from root to tip. Will squeezed his eyes shut, senses overwhelmed every time he brushed the back of Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal would breath in deep and wait for a beat before pulling back. Hannibal let Will’s cock slip from his mouth, lips shining with saliva. He was gorgeous like that. Will loved to see Hannibal on his knees, lips plump from the friction of running over Will’s length. 

“Hannibal…” Will uttered the name through gritted teeth. 

“Yes Will?” Hannibal’s voice was husky and deep. 

“Hannibal.” It was a whisper, imploring and sincere just like Will’s gaze. 

“Tell me what you want.” Will made a small, strangled noise as Hannibal pushed his legs up and apart, knees spread wide and inviting. Hannibal peppered kisses along the backs of Will’s thighs and nibbled at the swell of Will’s ass. Will practically howled as Hannibal bit down. An angry red ring of abused flesh glowed against Will’s creamy complexion. He traced the circle with his tongue and laid down a kiss for each tooth mark. It pleased Hannibal to know that Will would have no choice but to think of him each time he moved to sit for several days to come. 

Hannibal had long since come to terms with his possessive streak, especially as it pertained to Will Graham. He’d known in an instance that the younger man would be a necessary part of his life. It was rare for Hannibal to be so taken with another person. He and his proclivities had rendered him a solitary creature, and it had never been a problem for Hannibal. And Will himself had been a man so resigned to being alone that he could no longer recognize his own loneliness. Hannibal had worked tirelessly, and not always fairly, to open Will’s eyes and heart. Of course his own unique brand of morals meant that playing fairly retained a different definition for him than it did for everyone else. But he also knew that Will’s own moral flexibility aligned well enough with his own. It was why they worked so well together. That didn’t mean he had to make this easy for Will. They were both notoriously stubborn, but Hannibal had more patience. 

Hannibal hummed, one more attempt to get Will to answer him before he trailed his tongue along Will’s taint working his way lower. Will planted his feet and lifted his hips with a rough sigh. He pulled his knees higher to give Hannibal better access. He trilled at the first swipe of Hannibal’s tongue over his hole. The hot breaths on his most intimate part brought out a slew of breathy, flustered noises from Will. Hannibal licked earnestly, alternating between rough passes and light circles. He left sloppy open mouthed kisses and preened as Will swore vigorously under his administrations. 

“Jesus!” Will arched off the bed with a shout as Hannibal gave a sharp thrust with his tongue. The invasion was rough and rabid and amazing. The intimacy of the attention made Will’s eyes roll back in his head. His vision blackened around the edges. He felt like his was floating. The earth was moving without him as he was stuck in this moment. It was cut short as Hannibal retreated, panting hard. Will made a groan of disappointment, abandonment. Hannibal gave him a playful pinch on his inner thigh to reprimand his greedy desperation. Hannibal adored Will’s need for his touch, but a simple groan was not what he wanted to hear. He wanted words and declarations. 

Hannibal crawled back onto the bed and over Will’s body. He stole a kiss, soft and sweet before locking eyes with his paramour. Will reached out to rub his thumb over Hannibal’s lips. Still slick with spit, they glistened in the light of the room however dim. Will was entranced and watched raptly as Hannibal took the digit into his mouth and gently scraped his teeth over it as he pulled away. Will let out a little, gasping ‘oh.’ Hannibal smiled, vicious and sly. 

Will heard the snick of a bottle, and counted his breaths until he felt Hannibal’s slick fingers on him, in him. Just one at first as Hannibal carefully prepared him. The gentle slide always amazed. He never felt closer to Hannibal than in these moments. He could pretend that they are one in the same, connected so intimately. That they knew each other better than anyone else could hope was one thing, but this was tangible. This was proof. This was love, in the truest form they were capable of. 

“Yes.” Will always enjoyed the first slow moments as Hannibal’s fingers entered him. It was soft and sweet, a sharp contrast to what usually followed. Hannibal was rough and domineering, both in the bedroom and out. Will wouldn’t have had it any other way. He devilishly delighted in butting heads and challenging Hannibal’s authority. There was something wondrous about knowing he was the only one that Hannibal would ever allow to be so contrary. 

Hannibal added a second finger. He worked Will openly slowly and precisely letting Will’s huffed whines and deep groans guide his actions. He scissored his fingers to spread Will wide open. Hannibal curled his fingers upwards and watched Will spring off the mattress at the movement. Will was biting his lip, and his brow was furrow in concentrated pleasure. Hannibal ran his other hand up and down the inside of Will’s thigh. He whispered sweet encouragements and added a third finger. Will took them so beautifully. He was gorgeous, flushed and writhing, the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his skin, caught the light and illuminated his features. The damp heat made his curls go wild. He looked debauched and untamed. Will tended to be meek and mild in the company of others. In the bedroom he was practically feral. Hannibal couldn’t help smirk, he’d hardly even started. He was still wearing trousers after all. 

Hannibal reluctantly withdrew from Will. He stood to fully undress. Will watched him: Hannibal had his full attention and once again saw no need to rush. Hannibal was a study in delayed gratification. His propensity for careful planning, his ability to let his darkest desires lay dormant until the proper moment struck was what made him so lethal and cunning. His patience in all things was unwavering, except this. His need to take and claim hampered him daily. Waking in the morning to Will--sleepy, soft, and warm--watching as Will did the most mundane tasks, sitting through dinner knowing that dessert would be neglected for sweeter activities, threatened to corrupt him constantly. Counting his own heart beats and breathing in time, helped reign himself in. He was under no illusions that Will was ignorant of his effect on Hannibal. In fact Hannibal used it to his advantage, something else Will was well aware of, so he could taunt and tease and test himself as well as Will’s restraint. 

The shoes went first. He knelt down, narrowly out of sight to unlace each shoe. He stood up again his eyes following the line of Will’s prone form as he rose and stepped out of them. He unbuckled his belt and slipped it from the loops in one deft motion, his eyes locked with Will’s. He let it clatter to the floor: its impact was damped by the floor’s plush carpet, but Will watched it fall and licked his lips hungrily. Hannibal peeled off his pants, dragging his underwear down too. 

Having Hannibal standing proud and naked before him was alluring. It drove Will crazy. It held so much promise for the coming moments and the future beyond that. Hannibal was rarely freer or more vulnerable than when he was standing naked and expectant in front of Will. Will always had the power to say no, no matter how badly his will power abandoned him when he knew Hannibal was wanting and waiting, it was still within Will’s reach to push the other man away, to fill Hannibal with doubt and hurt. Of course Will never did. He was too far in, there was no way back, no way out. This was forever, even if forever ended with Hannibal’s hands wrapped around his neck, holding tight until the world faded away. It was a forever he was content with if it meant sharing every part of himself with the man before him. Having Hannibal naked before him, above him, and under him was simply a perk. 

Hannibal’s cock was glorious. It was thick and long and uncut and perfect. Will wanted it in him immediately. Will reached for his own dick, spurred on by the amazing view, as it throbbed and begged for attention. Hannibal shot him a look that clearly said, don’t you dare, but Will, as usual, didn’t feel inclined to to heed Hannibal’s warning. Every second that passed threatened to overwhelm him. He had been right on the edge, hovering so close as Hannibal worked him open, hovering on the edge to the point of frustration. It wasn’t enough to make him come. He needed more to go over the falls, and without Hannibal’s hands on him, he was quickly losing the body-thrumming high of being so close. He wrapped a hand around himself. Just a few short, harsh strokes would be more than enough to have him spilling over himself. He gave himself a defiant tug. Hannibal’s responding growl sent a shiver up his spine. With almost no effort, Hannibal flipped him over and straddled him. He grabbed both of Will’s wrists and pinned them behind Will’s back holding them in place. Will could feel Hannibal’s erection pressing into his ass, as Hannibal leaned forward and whispered into his ear. 

“Dear Will, why do you insist on defying me?” Hannibal ground down with his hips, rolling none too gently. His cock rubbed along Will’s cleft. It skittered over his hole, catching briefly on the rim. Will moaned in appreciative ardor while he struggled lamely against Hannibal’s grip. “Tell me what you want Will.” The command had venom this time. There was a bite to Hannibal’s voice. He was out of patience and his self-control was waning. 

“H-h-hannibal…” Will’s voice stuttered across the name. His thoughts were clouded by the delicious sensation of Hannibal bearing down on him, rubbing against him, promising bruises and passion. 

“Say it Will.” Hannibal’s voice was pitched low. Will wished desperately that he could see the look on his face. He knew it was wild and strained. He wished he could see the bared teeth and pupils blown wide by desire. 

“I want you...to fuck me.” That was all it took. Hannibal was slicking up his cock and driving in. The motion was measured. For all his anger and impatience he didn’t want to hurt Will. Once he was buried to the hilt, he pulled out just as slowly. The pace was maddening. Both of them knew it wouldn’t last long. Neither had the wherewithal to tease and go slow anymore. They were both so keyed up and on edge. Hannibal picked up his pace at Will’s urging. Choruses of harder and faster drifted out of Will’s mouth, muffled by the mattress as Hannibal’s weight pressed down on him. Hannibal released his hands in favor of pressing a palm on either side of Will’s head. The added leverage and change in angle, left Will scrambling for purchase as he was jolted forward with each of Hannibal's thrusts. Will couldn’t find purchase, couldn’t even rock his hips back enough to meet Hannibal. He laid there, back arched and hips lifted, and took it, passive and content to let Hannibal have him. Will unleashed a litany of curses, Hannibal’s name among them, as he wished fervently for release. The sensation of Hannibal fucking into him was astounding, within minutes he’d lost the ability to form real words. His brain was foggy and unfocused. His eyes were squeezed shut, while his mouth hung open. He panted and grunted in time with Hannibal’s movements. His skin was aflame. He was covered in sweat and overheated, and each unrelenting drag of Hannibal’s dick against his prostate made Will feel like he would combust. It was almost too much, and now all he wanted was Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his own cock. He had no doubts that a few tugs would have him coming all over himself and the bedspread. 

He could tell from Hannibal’s labored breathing and the faults in his rhythm that the other man was close too. Hannibal was always the quiet one, content to let the sounds of Will’s pleasure and the slap of skin against skin fill the air undisturbed by his own commentary. He would tell Will how good he was after. Hannibal would run his hands over the planes of Will’s body, feel the heat of his skin and the damp sheen over his contours. He’d run his hands through Will’s hair, and pepper kisses across Will’s body and murmur sweet nothings into his reddened skin. He’d tell Will how beautiful he is, praise him for being so good for him, let him know in words what Hannibal’s actions preached. Will loved this ritual, delighting as Hannibal worshiped and praised him as Will inevitably drifted into a post-orgasm slumber. But Will relished the soft series of grunts that would inevitably escape Hannibal the closer and closer he got to his own orgasm. Low and rumbling, Hannibal would grunt with each forward roll of his hips, vocal with the efforts of driving deeper, faster, harder into Will’s pliant body. 

Will worked a hand underneath himself, slowly but surely seeking friction for his own pulsing dick. If he didn’t come soon, he was going to go insane. His eyes had rolled back, and his muscles had started to tense and ache from Hannibal’s relentless assault. He was on the brink of feeling raw and overstimulated and felt desperate. Will palmed himself without finesse. He didn’t need it. Instead he ran his hand up and down his length with a single-minded fervor. He felt another pulse of heat flood outwards from his core. He was shaking, a slight tremor moving through him before his entire body stilled. White spots danced in front of his eyes, the whole world quieted for the briefest second, and then his whole body spasmed. He came with a shout and buried his face in the comforter below him. His limbs ticked as the air rushed out of him. He twitched and panted and felt himself contract around Hannibal. 

Hannibal’s hips pitched forward again and again, the cadence haphazard until he unleashed a long, deep moan and stilled after one last thrust. A moment passed and Hannibal collapsed none too gently on top of Will. Both men were panting harshly and covered in sweat. Their heart rates were punishing. Will felt exhausted but happy, letting loose a sated, contented moan. He smiled softly as Hannibal threaded their fingers together and laid kisses across the back of Will’s sweat-dampened neck. As his heart rate slowed and the frenzy adrenaline abandoned him, Hannibal’s weight drifted from comforting to heavy. Will shifted in the hopes that Hannibal would take the hint. He wasn’t ready to break the silence yet. He was reveling in the quiet after glow, feeling almost boneless and knew Hannibal felt the same. 

Hannibal rolled to the side with a faint huff. Will felt a slight pang of guilt at disturbing the other man who had clearly been very comfortable where he lay until Hannibal’s curled fingers brushed against his side. The simple point of contact made Will smile. He turned his head and let his eyes flutter open to find Hannibal, eyes closed and lips curled in a faint smile of his own. The rest of his features were soft and peaceful. Will watched Hannibal for several moments, their quieting exhales the only sounds exchanged between them. He knew he’d have to ask. He couldn’t not. Eventually the curiosity would overwhelm him, and he’d want to know whose name Hannibal had plucked from his Rolodex. But for right now, this was more than enough.


End file.
